


C is For Choices

by squad51rescue



Category: Emergency!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squad51rescue/pseuds/squad51rescue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new crew of Station 51 struggles with their first devastating run as "A" shift. Will they be able to join together, or will they fall apart? Eight short chapters depicting the thoughts and struggles each man goes through, and the ending result. Warning - deaths mentioned of both adults and children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crew

 

_Emergency and its characters are the property of Universal Studios and Mark VII – just borrowing them!_

**_Warning_ ** _– this story contains mention, nothing graphic or detailed, of the deaths of adults and children – if this will bother you, don’t read further._

 

An uncanny silence settled over the station, broken only by the sound of the front bay door rolling down, the ticking sound of two engines cooling down, and the almost gentle, soft closing of two metal doors that belonged to the brilliant red Crown Engine. Her usually polished skin was dirty and black with the obvious evidence of their run. The three sounds faded away to be replaced by the shuffling of weary boots across cold, grey cement and the slapping sound of hands pushing open doors.

Captain Richard Hammer leaned against the door frame of his office, rubbing a dirty hand across his face and then through his dark hair; he was waiting for and watching the movements of his crew of five men. He observed as one entered the day room, feet dragging and head down. Another one had dragged himself into the locker room, shoulders bent and hand moving over his face in a gesture similar to his own. The tallest man of the crew had trudged around to the back of his engine, where the Captain could no longer see or hear what he was doing. Standing there, maybe, arms braced against the sooty finish, staring at something that only he could see.

The silence echoed hauntingly through the apparatus bay and the captain shifted his focus to the small truck in front of him. The final two members of his crew had not stirred from their slumped postures in the dull beige seat of the equally dirty rescue squad. In the driver’s seat, the man had both arms draped over the steering wheel, motionless hands palm down and thumbs touching, hanging loosely from limp wrists over the steering wheel. His head rested on his turnout encased upper arms; even through the closed window Hammer could see the streaks of black striping his face and the sweat darkened hair plastered against his skull.

Several feet across the seat his paramedic partner had his own head bowed, left hand splayed across his face, shielding the side of his face effectively from Dick’s view. Only the taut line of his dirty jaw was visible. His right arm rested on the frame of the strangely opened window, his long fingers clenching and unclenching the only sign of movement emanating from the cab.

As if feeling the concerned gaze of their captain piercing through the glass, both men suddenly stirred and clumsily stumbled out in an almost synchronized movement. Turnout coats haltingly pulled off, hung over side mirrors in anticipation of another run, but only after two doors were gently, softly clicked shut. The driver moved past Hammer, nodding briefly to him, before trodding past the fronts of both vehicles and disappearing into the dorm room. Intent on his progress, Hammer startled slightly as the other man materialized from around the back of the truck and vanished just as quietly through the door to the day room. The captain moved over to the still swinging door just in time to catch a glimpse of a blue jacketed figure ducking out the side door to the parking lot.

Letting loose a heavy sigh, Hammer returned to his office. This time he entered the small room and settled down heavily in the chair in front of his desk, propping his elbows on the desk and finally allowing the weight of his thoughts to drop on his hands. He felt slightly relieved that he at least knew the physical whereabouts of his men and that they all had come thru the harrowing ordeal intact; the relief quickly dissipated as he realized he had no idea of their emotional or mental states.

That last run, the one before this gut wrenching, soul stealing inferno, had been a simple, injury free vehicle accident, if there was really such a thing. His men, all capable and experienced, working together smoothly, looking towards him for guidance and orders, but not really needing it. Pulling battery cables, hosing down pavement, using a pry bar to pop open a bent door, just instinctive movements from all of them, really, a good sign of things to come. At least it had seemed that way then, within that brief span of time. Now, Hammer wondered, was it really true? It wasn’t his first crew, and God willing, wouldn’t be his last, but what had happened only several hours ago was surely going to test his theory that the MVA had been a positive indicator of the strength and cohesive bond beginning to form between his men.

He was the leader of a group of men that had only been together for barely over a month; he could dig through their personnel files for all of eternity and still not anticipate what their reactions were going to be to this, this horrible calamity that had befallen that family of six. Their first major disaster together as the A shift crew – how would each man individually handle their grief; how would the crew as a whole stand together? Would they merge together like the tightly woven pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, or would they splinter into a thousand sorrowful pieces? How would this night, this shift end, with the haunting ghosts and icy, bony fingers of madness greedily grasping for the souls of his men?

~TBC~


	2. The Captain

The Captain

Running a hand through his dirty, brown hair for the zillionth time, the exhausted captain of “A” shift finally lifted his head away from his hands and shifted his weight in the hard confines of the wooden, rolling chair. Sliding open the middle drawer in the desk, his fingers scrabbled about in the debris, searching, questing, for a brief respite from the troubled thoughts that were thundering unchecked through his mind. Finally locating the red and white rectangular box, he shook out a white tube and pushed it, hand trembling slightly, between his dry and cracked lips. Striking a match against the smooth surface of the desk, he contemplated the tiny, flickering flame for a brief moment before lighting the end of the cigarette.

Inhaling the addictive pleasure with a slow intake, and then exhaling just as slow, he finally relaxed slightly, letting down his guard for a brief moment as he leaned back and shuttered his eyes against the light of the office. Slowly, carefully, he let his freight train of thoughts derail, something he had only been able to achieve with practice, many years of practice. Blank, blank thoughts, let the nicotine work it’s magic for a few minutes before harsh reality jarred back in and forced the weary core of his being back into the rigid shell of leader……..

Finally ready, well, most of him, anyway, Hammer pushed back from the desk and crossed his left leg over his right knee. He looked slowly around the office, noticing with detached interest the paperwork that still needed to be finished, the abandoned coffee cups, the clutter, and the necessary evil that would have to be catalogued, sorted, and filed away before the start of the next shift. Taking another long drag, he focused on the desk in front of him, looking at the beckoning form that had yet to be started from their last run.

Sighing, the man leaned forward slightly and smashed the cigarette out in the glass ashtray tilted precariously on a pile of papers. His wife would be proud of him for that simple movement, he reflected; a year ago he wouldn’t have been able to smash the tobacco tube into oblivion after only three or four sucks of pure bliss. He would have drawn out every last bit of the brown weed and probably lit up another within minutes.

He picked up a pencil and rolled it absently between his fingers, his eyes scanning the room once again. He tapped the pencil against the smooth surface of the desk, purposely letting the rhythmic sound distract him from his troubled ponderings and the tasks that he needed to accomplish. His eyes flitted from one object in the room to another, again assessing the contents of the room as if he had never really seen them before. Delaying tactics, he knew, but he realized he wasn’t quite ready to begin his mole like tunneling into the papers before him.

The events of the last run began a slow forward wind through his unwanted thoughts. They had been first on the scene of a structure fire; a two story home was well on its way to being engulfed in searing, wood eating flames and suffocating smoke. He had called in a second alarm immediately and had felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up, as he and every member of his crew realized that there were occupants still in that deathtrap.

A lone car had stood in the driveway, behind the closed door of the double stalled garage. Neighbors, clad in bathrobes and various stages of modest and not so modest nightwear, quickly confirmed that the family of six was not outside. At this time of night, the possibility of them being trapped in that crackling inferno were so high that Hammer would not have bet a penny to the chances of their survival.

Within seconds of hearing that people were inside, his two rescue men were back at his side, pulling straps and hefting their heavy tanks into place. Johnny had the thick coil of rope slung over his shoulder, positive proof of what they were about to do. No words were spoken, no commands issued, but yet those two, without any hesitation, had simply geared up to fight their way into an impossible situation. Hammer had felt the stab of strong reluctance as he waved them forward without any words; they knew exactly what had to be done and how little time there was to do it. But a wave of pride had also washed over him at their bravery, stubbornness, and the always requisite touch of foolishness – these were HIS men after all.

Swallowing hard, Dick had turned his attention away from the sight of the two running figures and began the hopeless task of trying to slow down the hungry, fuel devouring beast. It looked like containment was the best that they were going to be able to accomplish with this one.

He glanced at Stoker, whose hands were flying lightning fast on the gauges; water was already pumping through the white hoses, already greyed and dingy from hard use. Marco and Chet were steadfastly spraying the gaping, rectangular shaped maw of the house, providing a temporarily safe path for the paramedics who had just disappeared into the brilliant backdrop of orange. As he swept his narrowed eyes over the scene, Hammer automatically lifted the HT to his lips to direct the incoming stations……

~eeeEEEeee~

Another deep sigh and the captain bent his head to stare once again at the blank report waiting to be filled out. How did you put something like that into words? The incredibly senseless loss of life and property? The emotional trauma that every man at the scene was now dealing with? What was done was done, but now he and the other leaders would have to deal with the fallout. Some of their men would deal with it just fine, but others would lash out in helplessness or a red hot rage. That was bad enough, especially if innocent friends or family got caught in the thin threads of anger whipping about; ultimately though, it was the men that would hold their emotions tight within themselves that worried Dick Hammer the most. Because he knew, by his own personal experience, that the blackness of evil would begin a slow chewing at the basic goodness in every man, leaving a trail of doubt, anxiety, madness, and even fear. He could only hope that these new men of his wouldn’t succumb to that or that if they inadvertently started down that deep, treacherous path, he would recognize it and be able to pull them out.

But now, now it was time to reach deep within and find the calmness, the peace, he so desperately needed. The strength of the station began with the captain. Years ago, when he had worked on a truck, he would have found the sanity in a bad call by going out drinking with his crewmates and basically drowning out the recollections. As he grew older, though, he had found solace in spending time with his bride and had easily turned away from the thrilling forgetfulness and temporary solace of the bottle. It was the innocence of his children as they had begun to arrive that had smoothed over the gap his slightly harried wife had left; the demands of motherhood had stolen away most of her attentiveness to his silent, deep needs. When his kids had grown into sullen, defiant teenagers and he had moved up into the rank of captain, though, he had found his inner peace trickling away call by call. Sliding back into the arms of the liquor had calmed him for a while, as had spending time with a friend who had climbed up the ranks of the fire department with him. And little by little his wife Linda had begun to reconnect with him, reaching out to him with a tentative hand. But when his buddy had been killed at the hands of a drunk driver, Hammer had abruptly stopped the alcohol and had begun the slow process of letting the bad runs build up internally. Even when he realized what he was doing, he had been reluctant to turn to Linda for help.

That had all occurred over eighteen months ago and he was relearning how to deal with the stress without bottling it all up inside. He didn’t even want to think about what had been the ultimate result of his unwillingness to seek help but chose to dwell instead on the positives aspects of the situation. Like how his soulmate had rescued him from the bottomless pit he was stubbornly slipping into or how she continued to walk beside him on the sometimes treacherous path to recovery on which he was still carefully climbing, one laborious step at a time.

He would give his new group a little time to gather themselves before venturing out among them to see how each one was handling the horrors they had been part of. Silent, stoic Stoker….matter- of- fact, meticulous Marco ... careful, calculated Chet….discerning, deliberate DeSoto…and gallant, gutsy Gage. Then he would gather all these fine men together and begin the process of venting the steam out of the station, man by man. He was going to use his own experiences and pull these talented men together; there was no way he was going to let any of them start down that slippery slope.

A tiny smile touched his lips as he slid a hand into his front pocket; he pulled out his keys and selected the tiny one nestled between house and Cadillac key. He unlocked the top left hand drawer of the desk, the drawer reserved for the A shift captain. For a moment, his fingers lovingly caressed the unopened bottle lying on its side before pushing it aside. He pulled out a leather bound notebook instead; it was time to vent his feelings and let them explode within the tightly bound tome. One step at a time to keep those demons at bay – he began to scratch words on the paper…….

~TBC~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 


	3. The Engineer

Mike Stoker stood at the back of his Crown, one foot resting up on the dull bumper. He ran a hand across the smooth surface of the dirty, normally gleaming red paint and then stretched the same hand up to touch the hose. The coarse, canvas material was wet and pieces of dirt, asphalt, and whatever else had hitched a ride on it felt rough and scratchy beneath his questing fingers. He longed to pull it off the bed where it innocently rested and drag it outside to furiously scrub it clean. He was pretty sure that any of the new crew, the captain included, would be more than happy to assist in the manual labor even if it was the middle of the night.

He withdrew his restless fingers away from the neatly layered stack of water breathing, fire quelling hose and wondered if the urge to clean it represented his own thoughts of how to erase the memory of their run. He really didn’t buy into that psychobabble but in this instance it felt like a logical assumption. He closed his eyes and gently rested his forehead against the warmth of the metal, feeling a tiny measure of comfort from that simple move. He had to fight the strong urge to rush around to the side of the Crown and check gauges, read the numbers, and rest his hands on the reassuring familiarity of connectors and levers….he liked order and the repetitive motions and being a driver, an engineer, had plenty of it. Sure he could adapt to any different situation in an instant, make rapid decisions, and take over the command of their station if the need arose, but underneath it all lay the comforting layer of sameness.

Mike smiled, his lips drawn tight in a horrifying caricature of his usual, easy going expression. He lifted his head away from the engine and backed up a step, letting his arms drop limply to his sides as he blankly studied the sea of dirty red in front of him. The events of the last several hours kept darting in and out of his muddled brain and try as he might, he couldn’t shake the mosquito like buzzing. Sure he had seen, smelled, even touched worse things, but this run……

He shook his head in denial, his long, narrow fingers now clenching and unclenching, scratching almost desperately at the thick fabric of his bunker pants. He closed his eyes and took several, deep cleansing breaths, forcing his anxiety down. After several drawn out seconds his eyes, when they opened, were glittering with wetness. He couldn’t imagine how the other men were faring; they had been right there, in the middle of the chaos, unable to put an end to the deadly dance they had been caught in. The waltz that they had all lost, that had really been finished before they had even arrived. There was no way they could have quenched that unstoppable slithering of evil that had wrapped its coils about the house and the inhabitants within, slowly tightening its unyielding grip, foot by foot, yard by yard.

No possibility, although Stoker knew they had tried. Even as his hands had flashed at the controls, twisted and tightened the couplings and released the flow of water, the other four firefighters had already been on the remnants of the lawn. Crunching their way through the already charred and blackened blades of the once prized square of green and approaching the front door of the dwelling, where smoke was already attempting a stealthy escape. He hadn’t seen who had broken down the door; he had simply felt the moving flow of water through the hoses and had heard the first hit of water against the dancing, beckoning flames. The smell was next, the distinct odor of liquid splashing, dousing heated woods and plastics. He had turned slightly sideways then, nose winkling involuntarily, and was able to watch, with one eye, the drama unfolding over his left shoulder even as all of his concentration remained on the job in front of him.

The weary engineer sighed. He moved away from the back of the Crown and surveyed the apparatus bay. He was alone in the expanse of concrete and metal, but right now that was fine. He listened to the noises of the cooling vehicles and the fainter sounds emitting from the day room; someone had turned on the television to fill the unnatural silence that had descended upon their little haven. Mike wasn’t quite sure but he thought it might be Chet Kelly. He seemed to be the one that gravitated towards sound and even chaos. With that Irish sounding last name he was probably used to it; Mike knew he came from a large family with at least four siblings. If it was how he dealt with that run they had just had, then that was a good thing, a real good thing….

Stoker looked up, trying to yank his own coping mechanism into place. He hadn’t been married long enough to feel comfortable calling his wife and venting, not that he would have gone into any of the distressing details. Plus there was the fact that it was late, and a ringing phone at this time of night would unduly alarm her. No, he wasn’t going to start using his beautiful bride as his whining post. In the future he might call her to just reassure himself with the sound of her melodious voice, but he would never call and drag her through the same misery that he was presently wallowing in. He would deal with it just as he had always done.

To the very organized and precise man, that meant reviewing in his mind every little piece of that call. Map it all out like a blueprint down to the very tiniest detail, scroll through it all and see if there was anything they could have changed or prevented...that was how he would handle it. He would head to the shower and start the familiar process of analyzation as he let the cool water wash away the physical residue of tragedy; he was certain that there was at least one man in the locker room right now but he could wait.

He turned back around and strolled past the dingy back of the engine. When he entered the brilliance of the locker room, the eerie silence that had permeated the garage appeared to have crept its way into the damp, square shaped space. Only the dripping of water and the opened shower door bespoke of someone’s earlier presence; there was no one in the room. Mike looked down each row of lockers, double checking, mildly curious as to who had been in and out so quickly. Whoever it was had vanished into the dorm and he pivoted back towards his locker, leaving the unknown man to his privacy.

Stoker dropped down onto the bench in front of wooden locker and began pulling off his boots, his steady movements automatic. He had replayed the arrival of the crew to the fire and was now back to the point where he had been able to catch the action out of the corner of his eye. Marco and Chet had been manning one charged, eager line, standing slightly off to the side of the forbidding, smoking entrance. One of the paramedics, rope tied around his waist, had handed the remaining length of hemp to the back man as he brushed by them; Mike thought it was Marco who had grabbed it and whipped the end about his right arm while still maintaining a supporting hold on the hose. The medic had disappeared into the depths of the inferno dragging the second hose with him and a mere second later the other rescue man had vanished within, one hand gripping the now writhing line and the other hand planted firmly on the leading man’s shoulder. Stoker wasn’t sure who had dived in first as both paramedics were about the same height; the strangest thought had flashed through his brain at that moment that from the back the two guys reminded him of matching bookends

The two linemen had crept forward, until all Mike could see was a fragment of dirty coat and part of Marco’s leg and boot. By then another station had arrived and the noise level had increased exponentially. The shrill wail of approaching trucks, the purring rumble of engines, the clank and clatter of metal and equipment slapping against unyielding surfaces, the calm but authoritative shouts of men, the tinny, crackling squawks of radios relaying commands – all these sounds Stoker had heard and easily recognized as the normal roar.

It was the creature that they were engaged in a frantic fight with that he had strained to hear; since becoming an engineer he had begun to hone his auditory skills. He was rarely in the thick of the fires or rescues anymore, hovering on the fringe of the action. Yes, he still felt the whisper of ash as it brushed seductively by his face, flicked off the burning embers that zeroed in on any exposed, bare skin; he still smelled the bitter tang of burning, which was definitely not the woodsy, pleasant smell of a campfire on a chilly night, and caught the not so obvious odor of fear and blood pumping excitement emitting from both civilians and firefighters as they flew by. He still saw what was transpiring about him, although his field of vision had narrowed considerably to a square of instruments the width of his arms. And of course his sense of touch was still the same as his fingers slapped down on various surfaces and did what they had to do with quickness and accuracy.

It was his hearing that had sharpened. When he had been a lineman, that sense had really been his least used one because it had been hard to hear anything, especially when he had been masked and distracted by the welcoming sound of his own raspy breathing. But now it seemed that one function was making up for lost time. The very short time that he had been in his new job he had become very aware of the nuances of the roars, hisses, and crackles and numerous other sounds the living, breathing fires made as they devoured everything in their path and beyond. And so, he had listened very carefully, with a growing sense of dread, as the four men from his new station had been swallowed whole by the ravenous, gaping jaws.

Thankfully, now all he could hear was the delicious patter of water against his tight muscles and the slide of the now dirty liquid into the drain. He grabbed the bar of soap and began cleansing his body…left arm first, there went the roof of the once beautiful home and was the paramedic with the rope about his waist still up there….next his right arm, the ominous sound of the whole upstairs beginning to collapse in on itself and out came one firefighter like a shot from a cannon……..scrub the back of his neck, the HTs going crazy with the Chief’s orders and another man stumbling out with the back of his coat madly puffing smoke…….across his chest, the sparks shooting high in the sky as brilliant as any fireworks display as yet another figure flew out backwards with arms wind milling and mask askew…..

Mike Stoker slowly scrubbed away his anxiety, a bit of it anyway, as he reviewed the run from hell to its conclusion; not hearing any noises indicating someone was waiting for the shower, he repeated the process in the exact same order. He would dress and track down his crewmates, see how they were faring, talk to their captain, and perhaps by then he could make the call to his wife Connie. Make small talk, plan their day together, organize and schedule, and just enjoy downtime with her…..yeah, he was pretty sure he had made the right choice in transferring here to Station 51. He hadn’t been sure, in the beginning, but the urge to go join the other men and talk about what had happened, was strong, very strong, like an itch that needed to be scratched. Definitely the right choice….

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

**__ **

**The Senior Lineman**

He supposed, in a way, that the response that they had just returned from was a test. Perhaps it was an evaluation of his faith, how strong it really was, and how steadfast it would remain after the end of this shift. The maternal side of his family was thoroughly rooted in their beliefs; like the giant redwoods up north that had stretched out their own questing, gnarled tentacles, so had his family’s trust in God remained through thick and thin. His father’s side maybe not so much and not quite as fervently, but it too had persevered over the years.

Well, if that was the case, Marco wasn’t sure if he would pass it or not. This call had rattled him more than usual, and he had seen his share of tragic happenings in his career. He was unclear on why this one seemed to be really bothering him; perhaps it was because he was working with a new group of guys at a brand new station. They had only been together, what? A couple of weeks maybe at the most, and while they seemed to be meshing into quite a team, there was still that somewhat awkward interaction between them. He had known and worked with Chet Kelly before they had been assigned together as linemen here, but the rest of the “A” shift was new to him. And the concept of paramedics was a whole new field to consider, one of which Marco didn’t think he was going to venture into.

Dragging his feet across the floor that had been pristine only hours ago, Lopez made slow progress towards the locker room, his head lowered and his sole intent fixated on a shower. No one else seemed to be headed in that direction, and he wasn’t one to give up the chance to take advantage of that golden opportunity. Usually Stoker took the first slot and Marco claimed the second, but it appeared that the quiet engineer wasn’t going to assert his senior position this time around. In fact, he was moving so slowly that the lineman wasn’t sure if he was going to beat the medics, who were still sitting in their little red truck.

He couldn’t hold back his snort of disdain for that unremarkable rescue vehicle; it was definitely a very strong deterrent to even considering that straight across move. Working on the trucks and engines was what stirred his blood, not riding or driving a toy that could fit into his driveway and leave room to spare. Plus there was the fact that all of the paramedics were rescue men, another thing that didn’t really appeal to him. While the sight of those nuts running first into burning structures, crawling headfirst into tight, impossible areas, and slithering down and up slopes and buildings could really kick his adrenaline into high gear, he knew it just wasn’t for him. It was a fleeting longing, one that only stayed with him during the actual event.

Scratching his hand through his dirty and sweat matted hair, Marco gained the entrance and pushed his way through the door. No sounds of gear hitting the floor, lockers slamming, or the murmur of voices greeted him; he had been right when he assumed no one had headed for the showers. He turned down the center aisle and veered left, plopping down on the narrow bench in front of his locker.

It was several minutes before he moved again, and that was simply to pull the suspenders from his bowed shoulders and let them fall. The silence in the room was so complete that the tiny thud of the straps hitting the varnished wood startled him and he slapped his left hand down on the offending item with annoyance. He shook his head at his jumpiness but still remained in his seated position, mulling over the events of the previous several hours.

They had all known how bad it was as they approached the flames shooting high above the roofline; the beautiful but deadly dance of the orange against the black of the night sky. Colors appropriate for the season that they were in but oh so terribly wrong for where they were appearing now….

He barely remembered leaping from his seat to complete the forward lay and loping back to the engine, a bare hand fumbling with the chin strap of his helmet and his glove clenched between his teeth. Kelly had led the way as front man on the hose as they crunched across the scorched lawn; the rescue team had been only steps behind them as they dragged the two hoses towards the shiny red paint that decorated the centrally located front door. Marco was pretty sure that he had heard Chet mutter “welcome to the gate of hell” before laying a hand on the door, sliding it downwards to check the heat, and rattling the gold handle.

Locked, which meant there had been no escape from this particular point. It had only taken two tries between the combined efforts of the linemen to eliminate the wooden barrier; it was only seconds later that water was clearing a hazy path through the whorls of smoke. He felt the brush of an arm against his as the first paramedic jostled against him and automatically grabbed the rope that was flipped towards him.

Lopez looped the rope about his arm and caught the sinuous snaking motion of it playing out from the corner of his eye as he sidestepped to his left to allow more room for the second paramedic to pass by. He was pretty sure it was DeSoto following Gage, as he could see the “D” on the back of the man’s stained coat as he hustled by. So that meant Gage would be the one trying to find a way upstairs; trying to find a path through the blackness enveloping them all with only a tiny beam of light from his flashlight and a length of rope holding the dubious promise of a way back out.

They had advanced with the charged hose by tiny increments, steadily inching forward into the suffocating fog. He could feel the sweat trickling down his face and could only brush ineffectively at it with a hunched shoulder; both hands were needed to steady the hose and to feed the still jerkily moving lifeline through his fingers. He stayed close behind Chet, taking shallow breaths to conserve air and his eyes scanning what little he could see of the room. He had already lost sight of Roy, but knew he had gone to the right. To the left was a growing wall of flame that would contain no hope for survival. He fervently hoped that by now this monster was being attacked from the sides, the back, and the roof, because the sinking feeling he had in the pit of his belly was a foretelling mix of fear and foreboding.

And then Kelly’s hell had broken loose with an ominous roar. Even as he felt the rope pull tight against his forearm forcing him to release what was left of it, he registered the unmistakable sounds of collapsing materials. Keeping his head down against the sudden onslaught of falling debris, he had dropped the hose as it was shut off and lifted his suddenly free hand to grab Kelly’s shoulder. He wasn’t quite prepared for his crewmate’s violent shove; he flew backwards out of the doorway and landed hard on his rear. Kelly had flown out behind him, his coat already smoking. He had tripped over Marco’s legs and planted himself face first in the grass. Marco had slapped quickly at the coat, extinguishing the tiny flakes of ember dotting Chet’s left shoulder.

Marco shuddered at the futility of it all and abruptly stood up, yanking off clothing and letting it remain in a shapeless heap on the floor. His shower lasted all of three minutes and he deliberately kept his thoughts to the task at hand. He ignored his turnouts and instead dressed in his day uniform of blue pants and crisp, ironed shirt. The dirty garments landed in his empty gear bag; he stuffed the bag back into his locker and paused as he noticed the newspaper he had abandoned earlier on the shelf below.

He sat back down on the bench, kicking his turnouts aside as he reached down and plucked the paper from its resting place. His fingers impatiently flipped through the pages until he reached the sports section; the discarded sections fluttered downwards and enveloped his black socks in white and more black. He barely noticed as he scanned the racing results and ran through the football scores. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his wallet and the worn scrap of paper tucked inside.

He froze as he realized what he was intending to do. One bad run and he was on the verge of throwing away all of the sacrifices, the promises, and the huge leaps he had made towards acknowledging and fighting his addiction. And his family, his friends, most of whom had stood by him even when he had succumbed to a detour once or twice; who would remain to pull him up by his stupidity this time? No, he wouldn’t allow it to happen, wouldn’t give in to the incredibly strong urge to find a phone and call that number…..

He uttered a hoarse “no” and flung the black wallet into the back of his locker. He slowly closed the door and gathered up his turnouts, turning his head to try and avoid some of the pungent fumes emitting from the coarse material. He would set the boots and pants outside and deal with the cleaning after shift end. Right now, right now he just wanted to find some of the crew and be around them instead of escaping to the privacy of his bunk and wallowing alone in his thoughts. He had a strong feeling that this group of guys was going to be just what he needed – friends most of them, allies, and hopefully one or two very trusted confidants, like Chet was. Yes, he was pretty sure he had made the right choice in applying for this station…….

~TBC~


	5. The Lineman

****

Chet Kelly leapt off the engine, tossed his coat onto his seat, and sailed his helmet up after it. Head down and feet dragging, he plodded towards the day room. He needed noise, distraction, and plenty of it; anything to take his mind away from that burning pile of wood, plaster, and a hundred other things that had once made up a home….

The shower could wait, plus the chances of getting one soon would be slim. He wasn’t the low man on the totem pole here, at least, but he was pretty much smack in the middle. Somehow, with no discussion, they had drifted into a shower lineup that obviously started with their captain and ended with Gage, the man with the least time on the job. Kelly knew the new paramedic wasn’t happy with the arrangement but as it didn’t always work out that way, he seemed to be able to accept it with good grace. There were times when the engine crew stepped aside and let the paramedics hit the showers first; it all depended on the types of calls they responded to. Chet really liked that this little group of guys were working together so well.

He plodded with heavy feet into the dayroom and headed right to the television set. He clicked it on and turned the dial until he located the late night movie. One of the advantages to living in a big city was that there was at least one local station that broadcast late into the night, or early morning as was the case with this one. And they usually rounded off their schedule with a couple of movies that really appealed to his taste. But honestly, he didn’t really care what was on it, just as long as it was something besides the fuzzy snow of the screen.

He rubbed his hands down his turnout pants, realized it was a futile gesture and dropped with a noisy exhale of breath onto the couch. There was no way to scrub off the memories, get rid of the churning swirl of thoughts that seemed to be drowning him. He’d had a bad feeling about this run before they even reached the address and the one look he had shared with Marco as they sped down the streets of the county had confirmed that he wasn’t the only one with that premonition of impending horror.

They had barreled down the residential road and were able to smell the suffocating, noxious odor before the spiraling smoke had come into view. Before Chet’s booted feet had made contact with the sticky black of the asphalt, Hammer had been on the radio, requesting assistance and a second alarm. One lightening fast glance towards the two story home and the stocky lineman realized it would only be a matter of minutes before the once beautiful structure would be completely involved; a family’s dream blackened and melted into a grotesque pile of ruin.

As his hands began automatically pulling hose, he had noticed the car in the driveway, the frantic milling and panicky cries of the neighbors. He saw the two rescue men hurriedly pull on their tanks, adjust masks and trot over to their captain to get the unneeded instructions. He had swallowed hard, forcing back the bile rising in his throat as he realized what that bad feeling had been all about….

Kelly squirmed on the couch and stared at the television, hearing the screams of the people running from Godzilla and thinking that this movie probably wasn’t a good idea. Usually he could count on the absurdity of some of these old flicks to divert his thoughts, but this time the townspeople fleeing from that lizardly creature reminded him of that whole family dying, perishing from their own monster unleashed within that house.

He got up and ambled without purpose into the kitchen area, running his hand along the smooth surface of the table, touching the backs of the chairs, and ending up standing in front of the sink; he slid his fingers across the cooler porcelain, trying to ground himself in the ordinary fixtures and furniture of the room. He spun around and spied his book lying on the table, abandoned when they had left for the MVA hours ago.

Chet picked it up and scuffed his way back to the couch, yanking off his suspenders and letting them fall. He settled back on the black imitation leather and flipped open the wide cover, exposing another book hidden within. He cast a furtive look about the room and then heaved a satisfied sigh that there was no one lurking in the shadows.

“Soon, my pretty little pigeon, soon,” he promised in a whisper, thumbing through the tattered book and forgetting, just for a moment, the events that were scorching the edges of his thoughts. It was a book that had traveled with him for years, a way to cover up his insecurities and his need for attention. Coming from a large family with many siblings and even more cousins and other assorted relatives, Chet had always had trouble finding a niche. Being a middle kid in the pack of Kelly siblings had been like a bland, brown M & M in the bag of assorted colors; it was pretty hard to follow in the footsteps of overachievers and just as difficult to be followed by the cute, precocious younger kids.

It had taken him awhile, but ordinary, average Chet Kelly had made his mark. First within his family, then with his friends and classmates, and now he was becoming well known among his fellow firefighters as the prankster, the joke man, and his favorite – the magician. He gained the attention he sometimes so desperately craved, made people laugh, and morphed from that brown M & M to the coveted green one.

He had burned out for a while, buried the treasured book in the bottom of a drawer and stayed quiet, wondering if he had chosen the wrong path to follow with the shenanigans, but feeling confident at least in his career choice. But since he had started at 51s, he had felt the tiny tendrils of uncertainty creeping slowly back, winding about him and tightening. Maybe because it was such a small house and your every move was scrutinized, but no, that couldn’t be it. He was an excellent fireman, and thrived well under pressure. Perhaps it was because they had some of the departments newest wonders installed within, those paramedics. He had nothing against any of the six guys assigned to the station; in fact, he thought the whole program was a terrific idea. He didn’t have any desire to become a medic, at least not now, and he didn’t want the responsibility of holding people’s lives in his hands. So what was it, then, that had him bugged?

Chet shook his head, unsure. But in the end, the book had been pulled out of hiding and the well-thumbed pages had been devoured once again as he looked for new jokes, pranks, or any other harmless but funny things that he could pull on his new crew. With only five guys working with him, the field was pretty narrow; obviously, you couldn’t prank the captain or even Marco since he was well aware of his identity and all of his tricks, but Chet was confident of the three remaining men his target had been well selected.

He hissed his breath out in a ragged exhale of air and closed the lid down on the book. He would take it back out to his van before his potential pigeon found it. He threw his head back against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, part of his attention on the thump, thump, thump emanating from the television; it was probably Godzilla stomping his way through the Japanese cities, destroying everything in his path. Just like that unstoppable blob of orange and black that had consumed the dwelling and all of its contents, chewing and slurping its way through, no conscience to bother it only the goal of destruction.

He shuddered, still feeling the slide of the hose through his gloved hands, the heat blasting the unprotected skin of his face and neck, the touch of ashes and fiery embers as he had purposefully headed across the yard, Marco right behind him. Feeling the water fill the line, releasing the forced spray of water, and marching with single minded determination towards the monster…..

Even now, hours later, Chet could still see the whole picture in his mind. Approaching the unwelcome entrance to the house and forcing it open with brute, frantic strength, trying to force a path open with the ineffectual, sluicing motion of water and how first one paramedic and then the other had pushed past them, pulling their own hose and intent on their quest to find someone, anyone, alive.

He had felt the lifeline tied around the first rescue man slap against his slightly quivering arm before it dropped downwards; he continued fanning the nozzle and watched for a second as the wavering rope disappeared into the thick fog of smoke obscuring everything from the knees down. He could only see about a foot in front of his face but that was better than nothing at all.

As he and Marco plunged forward with shortened steps, sweat plastered his t-shirt to his back and glued his gloves to his palms. He could feel his left ear becoming uncomfortably warm; the rooms, or room, on that side of the house were fully involved. The sound of breaking glass, barely heard over the hissing, crackling howls of the fierce beast, came from somewhere and Kelly felt a tiny thrill of hope. Was Gage or DeSoto breaking a window to carry out a victim, a person that would obviously still be alive? If he had the extra energy to waste, the lineman would have shaken his head. No, more than likely it was the sound of a window blowing out, or one that was being smashed from the outside.

And then another sound had intruded upon his consciousness, a noise that no one wanted to hear. The dying wails of a building, wood and plaster beginning a rapid transformation into a splintered, blackened charred pile of unrecognizable materials. In other words, the roof was collapsing and the second floor was trying to hold up the weight of shingles and plywood and timbers and any other manner of weight; ultimately, it would fail and the laws of gravity would dictate that everything must fall…

And fall it did, the trickle of debris hitting his helmet changing in a second from a popcorn dribble to a steady thunk of rubble raining down upon him and his colleagues, God, where was their backup, where had the paramedics disappeared to? He had instinctively reacted by shutting off the hose even as he felt the brush of Lopez’s protective and warning gloved hand against his turnout, oh man did he love that guy. Already in sync with each other after only a month working together, he mused happily. He had half turned and shoved his friend backwards as he mentally and physically, as the pieces hitting him became bigger, acknowledged the fatal fall of the house beginning its journey.

Somehow he ended up tumbling out behind his crewmate, not even aware that his shoulders were smoking as he tripped over Marco’s legs and planted himself in the blackened grass. The smacks against his left shoulder quickly brought him to full awareness and he had instinctively rolled, not in any big hurry to become a flaming torch. They had both scrambled to their feet; just in time to witness another firefighter fly out with arms making circles in a successful attempt to maintain balance and exit at the same time.

Chet made a sound deep in his throat and opened his bloodshot eyes to gaze wearily at the black and white images floating across the small screen of the television. He laid the book next to him with one hand splaying across the cover protectively and watched with interest as Godzilla faced his enemies, roaring and shooting fire. Yes, he had made the right choice in his new station; they would make a formidable team, all six of them.

~TBC~


	6. The Senior Paramedic

**__ **

Roy DeSoto opened the eyes that had been squeezed shut and lifted his head from the bowed position he had held it in for the last thirty seconds. He was startled to see Captain Hammer standing outside of the squad, peering through the grimy windshield. Nothing like your new captain staring at you in concern to get you moving, even though you didn’t want to. Sighing softly, he dragged his arms down from the steering wheel that they were draped loosely over and opened his door. He didn’t bother turning his head to check on his partner; he could the stiff rustling of fabric which indicated that Johnny was also on the move.

His body protested the movement to vertical as his feet hit the floor and he heaved himself upright with a muffled grunt. He ignored the screaming muscles that were clearly warning him of tomorrow’s soreness and yanked off his turnout coat, flipping it over the mirror with a clumsy gesture. He walked past the captain giving him a terse nod and strolled stiffly past the noses of both vehicles, keeping his head up but his eyes slitted to block out the harsh glare of the overhead lights.

Passing by the swinging door that led into the dorm, Roy entered instead the door further along the wall. A welcome silence greeted his entrance into the locker room; it looked like he was going to be able to claim the first shower. Or perhaps the second shower judging by the faint line of wet footprints trailing across the cement floor and disappearing down the middle aisle between the lockers. If someone was still in here, they were being quiet for only the sound of dripping water could be heard.

He wasted no time in stripping off gear and clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor; if he had timed the shower it would have registered only four minutes from the moment he stepped into the small enclosure to the opening of the only slightly fogged over door when he ventured back out. After a prank played on him as boot that involved a tape recording of their station’s tones played outside of the shower stall, where he had been leisurely enjoying a rather long and warm cleansing, he had never again been caught with shampoo lathered in a thick foam upon his head.

It was only after he had donned clean t-shirt, socks, and shorts that he slowed down; he sorted out the smoky undergarments and tossed them in his empty gear bag, stuffing it with a disgusted grimace back into the shelf in his locker. He double checked to make sure the zipper was firmly zipped before closing the door and picking up his turnout pants, boots still tucked in. The blue jacket tossed over his arm, he scuffed softly into the dorm.

It too was devoid of human presence, and the clean but very weary paramedic lowered himself gingerly down onto the side of his bed, dropping the boots with a thud. Letting the jacket slide off, he stared with unseeing eyes at the brick wall on the far side of Gage’s bunk, his body still and slightly hunched. Now that he wasn’t moving, the past hours were filling his thoughts with images he would rather forget. Vivid pictures that kept replaying over and over, along with noxious smells that still lingered in his nostrils, and sounds, deafening sounds that still pounded through his head like an anvil being struck repeatedly by Thor’s hammer. He tentatively ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, and scowled as he tasted things that had no business invading sensitive tissues.

Half rising, he peered over the two half walls that separated him from the desk against the far wall, a desk that contained a line to the outside world. He glanced down at his watch and scowled again, realizing it was far too late or too early to be making a phone call to his wife. He plunked back down and this time stretched fully out on the still made bed, staring upwards at the milky blandness of the ceiling tiles. In his mind, he carried on a one-way conversation with JoAnne; a talk that would never happen because he would never carry home the horrid details of this particular fire. A few generalizations maybe to explain his depression or the way he would eagerly hug and kiss his little family for the next several days, but never, ever any more than that. Even before he had married, he had been careful of what he took home. First with his parents and the siblings still living at home when he began his new career, and then even with the few friends he hung out with when he was living on his own before his marriage.

He expelled his breath in a harsh whoosh of air. A sound filled with painful remembrance as his brain determinedly marched backwards, making him wince as it seemed to stop at frequent intervals and replay certain vivid memories at least twice. Unreasonable anger welled up from deep inside but he ignored it, unwilling to let it take control.

His lips moving but no sound coming out, Roy began the tale. As he progressed, his mouth stopped moving and thinned to a tight line as the pictures tumbled over themselves in their hurry to torment him. His eyes were now closed, his eyelids providing a vivid backdrop for the slideshow playing out.

“AH, JoAnne honey, if you had seen this fire…. when we were a couple of miles away you could see the black plumes of smoke against the grey of the night sky, even that far away we could hear It, I swear, and the smell, the smell that filled the cab……oh, honey……even then we knew that it was gonna be bad….”

There had been a tense silence in the rescue truck as they approached the scene, not an unusual thing while responding to a call, but this time it had felt different. While their partnership was still in the early, tentative stages, Roy felt pretty sure that the anxiety, the excitement, and even the bit of fear gripping his stomach in a tight vise were the same emotions radiating off of Johnny. They had parked off to the side of the Crown, detouring around Marco as he completed the lay of the hose. They had started back to their truck even before they heard the spoken confirmation that there were victims inside; a quick glance at the billowing smoke and the scene around it and they had both quickly came to the same dark conclusion. Rapidly gearing up, John snagged the thick coil of rope without hesitation. Roy had shot him an understanding glance, knowing he would be the one to check the second floor if it was still there when they entered the unstable structure.

Pushing forward, Roy had noted the little wave Hammer had given them but he had also observed the unexpected and rare parade of emotions marching across the captain’s face in rapid succession. They had flown by so fast he thought he had imagined them and had easily blanked them out as he moved by; retracing that brief moment now in his mind DeSoto realized that their leader, usually poker faced and oh so calm, had almost stopped them from going in. Had he already known that their endeavor would be useless? Worried for their safety and for every man going near that hellish pit? No doubt it had been both, and that split-second decision Cap had had to make on whether or not to let them proceed was not something he would want to do, either now or in the immediate future. Which of course brought up the question as to which direction he wanted his career to go, for after tonight going for the engineer’s job and staying at that position sounded mighty tempting, the captain’s job not so much.

Another wave of anger shot through him as he contemplated the fire and the probable reason for it. Instead of ignoring it this time, he pushed it down, breathing in and out slowly to send it on its way. It was one of the techniques he had learned to keep his emotions, most notably his anger, even rage, under control. He shook his head in a negative gesture on the soft feathers of the pillow, wishing he could just flick a switch and shut off all thoughts and feelings, at least for a few hours. He was sure even his dreams, sleep depriving nightmares more than likely, would be filled with the sounds and sights of that devouring monster. A roaring beast that he and Johnny had approached with sure steps across the already charred and soot covered lawn, their two linemen two or three feet in front of them, hoses leaving a snaky trail through the grass. Head down, Gage had been tying the rope to his waist with quick movements; he had moved in front of Roy and grabbed the nozzle on the dingy grey hose just seconds before Stoker had charged it.

They had caught up to their crewmates at the door, a door that had yielded to the men’s efforts without much fight. He had paused briefly behind John, hearing the hiss of water slap against burning material as Chet activated their hose. Feeling the live line spring to life under his own gloved fingers, he tightened his grip, instinctively ducked his head, sidestepped the falling rope that Marco had caught and flipped over his arm, and followed his partner into the smoky inferno.

Seeing the utter hopelessness of heading left into the wall of flames, he had followed Johnny’s slow pace towards the dense fog of smoke straight ahead. His hand braced on the other man’s shoulder, he had felt a moment of hesitation vibrate through John; had it been a brief quiver of indecision or doubt? Whatever it had been, it had been shaken off as quickly as it had appeared. His hand slid downward to grasp the nozzle as his partner relinquished control of it and made a swooping motion forward with his gloved hand.

Squinting his tearing eyes and concentrating, Roy had been able to make out the hazy form of a staircase. A brief nod of understanding from him and Johnny had disappeared up the stairs, bent in half and moving awkwardly. DeSoto had taken several giant steps forward until his feet hit the bottom riser of the stairs, fanning the water ahead of Johnny until his counterpart had disappeared from his limited view. Only then had he reluctantly taken himself and the hose to the right, searching for any sign of life.

It couldn’t have more than a minute later that he had felt the change within the room - whether it had been a gut instinct, a distinctive sound that stood out among all the other noises, or something else, he would never be able to clarify. He had just known at that precise moment that the house was giving up its battle, its fight for life. The shrill note of shattering glass interrupted the dirge for a second and then the building had resumed its mournful tune of collapse.

He had slapped off the hose then, abandoning it with a thud as he plunged through the swirling, breath taking fog of smoke and heat back towards the carpeted stairs. He had found the wood banister with his shoulder, the jarring thud rattling his teeth, and hastily felt his way around to the front and planted a foot on the first step. His hands desperately swept the stairs for that narrow piece of line; it was the only connection to his new partner. The thud of his heartbeat pounding in his ears was the only thing he could hear as his fingers had finally located and closed around the rope. He had yanked it sharply two times in both directions.

The answering tugs from upstairs and the resulting slack told him that Gage was already moving in his direction. He felt the tension release from the direction of the doorway and knew that Lopez had relinquished his hold and was well aware of what was happening. Hopefully both he and Kelly were heading out. Feeding the rope through his hands he had waited until the riser had vibrated under his rubber booted foot before stepping back and turning towards their only clear exit, leaving his arm extended.

Hot footing it down the stairs two at a time even in his heavy gear, Johnny had bumped into the stretched-out appendage as intended; there had been no need to warm him of the impending collapse either. Shoulder to shoulder they had ran for safe haven, the tiny arc of light Gage had trained on the glaring contrast of bland beige rope nestled against deep, rich green carpeting streaked with glowing red embers dictating the way. Only steps from the door Roy had stumbled over something and fell heavily to his knees. Somehow Johnny had pulled him upright, knocking his mask askew in the process but managing to push him backwards out the door. His arms flailing for balance, he had stayed on his feet and even was able to miss the linemen, who were just rising from their cushion of needle like, blackened grass. When he had shaken himself, however, they hadn’t been able to avoid the cascade of debris from his helmet and shoulders. He hadn’t even felt the shower of material hitting him inside the house as the ceiling and second floor had begun its collapse.

Flashing back to the events of the last hours, Roy felt a sliver of relief slicing through his dark mood at the thought of how they had all escaped relatively unscathed, physically anyways. And how they had worked so well together in an almost perfect sync, experience definitely a factor in the way they had immediately responded to the sounds and feel of the last gasping breaths of the home. So, it had been the right choice in accepting this new position at the equally new station; he sighed and rolled over to his side facing the wall as he considered that and felt another brief moment of reassurance.

~TBC~


	7. The Junior Paramedic

His left hand splayed across the side of his face and eyes squinted half closed, John Gage felt the truck come to a stop inside the apparatus bay. He could hear the engine next to their vehicle give a last rumble as Stoker shut it down and as Roy did the same thing with their vehicle, the sudden silence actually hurt his ears. After the hours of noise pounding away at his head, there should have been relief, but instead there was only a feeling of disorientation. The rustle of stiff fabric moving on the vinyl of the seat caught his attention and he reluctantly dropped the shielding hand.

He fumbled with the door handle and finally got it open, his right hand refusing to obey the commands from his exhausted mind. In fact his whole body seemed to be lagging behind in what he wanted it to do; he stumbled slightly as he climbed out, managing to catch himself on the window frame with his finally functioning hand. His quick visual sweep of the bay as he softly clicked the heavy door closed showed their captain standing by his office door and his partner struggling out of his turnout coat; neither one was looking in his direction, for which he was grateful. He shrugged out of his own coat, not even noticing the thick, overpowering odor of smoke and other toxic fumes drifting from it. He slung it over the mirror and dragged himself towards the day room, feeling like there was cement in the bottoms of his boots.

Entering the still darkened room, Johnny headed for the door leading to the outside. In his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of Chet sprawled on the couch and a brief flicker of light from the television before his shoulder hit the exit door with a hard thump. He shoved it open, his frustration with their last call letting it slam with a hearty bang behind him.

The night air feathered his dirty face with cool, lingering fingers; he lifted his head to meet the welcoming touch. There were a few stars visible in the blackness of the night but as usual light pollution dulled the sharpness and intensity of the celestial beings. He paused for a second, scrunching his bloodshot eyes to mere slits as he searched for a familiar landmark but even the North Star wasn’t detectable in the cloudy haze above. Dropping his head in disappointment, he continued to the back parking lot. His motorcycle was backed into the corner next to Roy’s weird colored Porsche; he rested a hip on it as he pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his jacket pocket and shook out a cigarette. The brief flare of a match illuminated his clenched jaw profile before the darkness swallowed the tiny flicker.

The cigarette clamped tightly between his lips, John inhaled deeply. He held the smoke for a moment before blowing it out in an explosive whoosh; the smoke refused to be hurried and spiraled in slow, lazy drifts away from him. He slung his leg over the black seat of his bike and straddled it, staring at the back of the firehouse but not seeing the pale color of the bricks. Instead it was the red, the orange, the yellow of hungry flames licking at a home, tasting and then devouring the meal in hungry gulps……

The paramedic jerked as ashes hit his bare hand. Annoyed, he tapped off the excess and contemplated the stick for a moment before lifting it back to his mouth and taking a slow and deliberate drag from it, eyes resting on the glowing tip for a moment before sliding back to the beckoning color of the wall. A ragged breath escaped him as the solid building morphed into a wall of tantalizing, undulating color, beckoning to him with its siren call of destruction and death. He closed his eyes on the sight but could still see the horrible aftermath of the family’s home that had succumbed to the fire.

It had been at least a mile away that they had spied their formidable foe issuing the challenge; it was a challenge that the firemen would ultimately lose not even thirty minutes later. The home had already been well involved when they arrived, the first on the scene. He could still see Hammer, radio covering his mouth as he issued commands and took control until their battalion chief arrived. It had taken only a quick glance at the burning structure for him and his partner to double back to their squad and grab their tanks. Without any conscious thought he had grabbed the coil of rope with one arm while settling his helmet back on his head with the other. He had caught the look that Roy sent him and had wondered briefly if it was a glance of gratitude or something else, understanding maybe? He hadn’t had a clue about it then and even now, thinking about it, didn’t have a clearer picture. But whatever it had been, it had added an extra jolt of adrenaline to the energy already coursing through his body.

He had needed it as they trotted across the crunchy grass close behind Marco and Chet. He’d had his head bent down so his vision was limited as he cinched the rope around his waist, but he was able to feel the heat wafting over him and hear the ominous crackle of the beast tasting its appetizer. He had snagged up the nozzle, taking the lead on their hose; tossing the lifeline in a casual underhanded gesture towards the older lineman, he had steadfastly pushed past him at the doorway.

The dancing curtain of orange flames towards their left had prompted him to continue straight into the greyer, darker pit of the unknown composed of smoke. His whole body shivered involuntarily as he carefully stepped forward, and he could feel the first trickle of sweat make its unwanted appearance down the exposed skin of his neck and disappear under and into the band of his t-shirt. He hesitated slightly as the thick fog blurred his already limited vision completely, shrugged it off with an inward gesture, and attempted a smile within the sweltering confine of the mask as he felt the hand on his shoulder press down in a reassuring manner.  Always good to know that the guy backing you up understood and anticipated your movements…..

Another few steps and his foot had found an obstacle which proved to be the bottom step of the stairway to hell; his sweeping hand caught the banister a second later and confirmed his guess. He gave control of the nozzle to Roy and gestured upwards. A nod from his partner and Johnny tread up the steps, bent at the waist to avoid some of the haze and heat. He felt clumsy as he navigated the wood and carpeted clad steps, careful where he placed his boots and hugging the right side as DeSoto directed a spray of water ahead of him. At the top of the stairs he shot a quick glance both ways and turned right; there were three doors in this direction which hopefully meant more bedrooms.

The first door was open. It took only a long step into the room and a rapid sweep of his light to confirm that the small bathroom was empty. He plunged down the hall towards the closed door on his left and ran a bared palm down the door checking for heat; the doorknob was under his hand when he heard, over all the other noises, the groaning of the ceiling above him. He couldn’t stop the muffled, anguished cry that escaped from his lips as he felt the house shudder, knowing exactly what that meant, and as fingers encountered resistance – the door was locked. The rope tied securely around his waist jerked twice in warning as he threw his shoulder into the solid wood obstruction. He knew then with absolute certainty that their time was up. No more time to check the rooms, no more time left for any survivors, and possibly not enough time for him to escape the entire collapse of the roof down upon him. He gave a quick tug of the lifeline to acknowledge his new partner as he whirled and plunged through the darkened length of the hall towards the beckoning call of safety and freedom.

Johnny flew down the stairs two at a time, not caring that his rapid breathing was using up the precious air in the tank fastened to his back. It wouldn’t matter if he ran out, because if they weren’t out of this death trap, by his calculations, in thirty seconds or less they would have no need of air anymore. Near the bottom of the stairs something slowed his leaping descent enough to keep him from smacking helmet first into the solid figure of DeSoto. He bumped his shoulder hard against his colleague’s and they bolted for the exit, following the barely visible trail of hemp that would lead them to the polluted, but breathable, night air of the city.

Something hard ricocheted off his tilted headgear; another step and he ignored what felt like a shower of boulders now raining down. He didn’t miss or ignore the sudden slide of Roy’s body down his side however, as the other man apparently tripped and fell. He roughly yanked him up, somehow half turning him in the process, and pushed him through the beckoning doorway of safety just a step ahead. He dived after him; the house collapsing over him forcing him into an unintended home base slide. He slid on hose slicked grass past DeSoto, who had somehow managed to stay on his feet, and came to an abrupt stop against the turnout clad legs of Chet Kelly…..

~eeeEEEeee~

John coughed and tossed his half smoked cigarette downwards, where it was ground into tiny shreds of tobacco and paper by his relentlessly grinding heel. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped and planted his feet flat on the pavement. His glance swept the sky again checking for constellations, a planet, or even a glimpse of the moon. He dropped his head in bitter disappointment and stared at the black seat of his bike, running a rough palm over the surface as he compared his dark mood with that of the blankness of the night.

The flattened hand twisted into a fist and he pounded it twice against the seat, face twisting into a grimace of bitterness as he thought about that destructive fire. Even he, the one with the least experience of their crew, had known what the outcome was going to be when they had arrived at the scene. How many lives had been lost in that incredibly fiery pit of hell which they had tried to breach? He knew they would find out the sobering answer soon enough but he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. Had he done his best, gone as fast as he could?  They had wasted no time in getting to the scene, suiting up, and entering the dwelling; he had made it out with only a second to spare, so he would have to say yes to it all.

He unfolded his hand and held both of them out in front of him – steady as a rock. That was something good, at least. Dropping his arms, he snagged the cigarette pack back out of his pocket and lit up another one, letting the slow addictive burn of the nicotine fill his throat and lungs and give him a moment of guilty pleasure. The odds that he would eventually die of something smoke related were high, anyway, so why not enjoy something he could control?

He stood up, cigarette hanging loosely from the side of his mouth as he contemplated the assorted vehicles of his shift mates parked in the small lot. He stared at Roy’s car for a long moment, wondering if his seemingly confident partner was experiencing any of the uncertainty he was currently wallowing in. Of course DeSoto had taken the paramedic course twice but that still didn’t mean he might have second thoughts about some of the medical decisions they had made out in the field. Probably a couple, but nothing like the misgivings he was having. The last couple of weeks had been hard, especially when it seemed that every time he made a stupid mistake Brackett had always been on the other end of the biophone catching it. Luckily they had all been minor ones, like asking for pain relief without giving vitals or not being able to catch a vein on the first IV try, but there were enough of those little things going on to make him doubt his ability to continue being a paramedic. For the most part, Johnny had always been confident and more than willing to explore and try new things. Failure was never an option. But this time around insecurity was gnawing at him and slowly chipping away at the layers of self-assurance that he had built carefully around himself.

His firefighter skills remained sharp, however, and if anything were even better since he had started here at this small station. He had to give all the credit for that to the men he was working with; they were a knowledgeable bunch of guys and were led by a captain who tolerated nothing but the best from his men and wasn’t  the least bit stingy about sharing his own experiences. That didn’t mean they didn’t horse around a bit, were perfect in everything, or never messed up but simply that they watched out for each other and lent a helping hand as needed without expected payback. Roy shouldn’t have waited for him in that house but he had, and acts like that were what made a good crew fit together. He might be having second thoughts about this paramedic business, but he had no qualms whatsoever about working with his colleagues that were gathered inside that building in front of him.

A last look skyward and Gage was surprised to see that the half-moon had finally made an appearance, sneaking around the clouds and shining brightly through the pollution over their city. Somehow it made him feel a bit better and he tossed the cigarette down, this time crushing it gently. He walked slowly towards a shower and the company of other people; he decided no matter what happened in the future, he was glad he had made the choice to join this new station.

~TBC~


End file.
